


The Beasts of Thedas

by HeraldsRest



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A Collection, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, Some romance if you squint, The Herald is not good with animals, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3609582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeraldsRest/pseuds/HeraldsRest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not just the wildlife of Thedas that is unpredictable...</p><p>A collection of drabbles and one shots -- in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beasts of Thedas

**Author's Note:**

> The Herald goes missing in Haven, and the Cullen takes it upon himself to look for her.

The arrow breezed past the ram, missing entirely, and lodged itself into a new target with a resounding thud. A deep, angry bellow echoed in the clearing.

 

Petra cringed. “… Oops.”

 

—

 

Back in Haven, Cullen took another look about the camp. Despite the sickly green of the Breach, orange and magenta hues streaked across the sky. Sunset was fast approaching, and with the evening meal finished, most were winding down for the day. The first night-watch had set out some time ago, and most of the pilgrims were settled into their tents and cabins. Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine were in the Chantry, busying themselves with last-minute preparations for the trip to Val Royeaux. He still thought it dangerous to send the Herald — because it still felt strange to call her that — in person, but the Seeker promised to be on their guard. Besides, Varric and Solas would also be accompanying them. Though, whether that calmed his worry — or compounded it — was hard to tell.

 

Speaking of which…

 

“What’s eating you, Curly?” Varric called, looking up from his writing. “You’re looking particularly serious this evening. More so than usual.”

 

The Commander scowled, even as his feet brought him to the dwarf’s fire. “The Herald… have you seen her?”

 

Varric paused, hummed, and paused a while longer. “Actually, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen her since before supper,” he replied. Dipping his quill into the inkwell and tapping it lightly, he drummed his fingers across a blank portion of the page. While he and the Commander were both from Kirkwall, and had both survived the event that initiated this whole mess, they had definitely seen different sides of it. They were more like tentative acquaintances — if only through the actions of a certain Champion — and had rarely had a chance to sit down and chat. But with the Breach crackling overhead and this budding Inquisition ripe for storytelling, Varric had a feeling they would be conversing even more so in the future. Might as well break the ice. “Have you checked her cabin?”

 

Cullen nodded. “Empty.”

 

“The smithy? The tavern?”

 

“No, on both accounts.”

 

“… Maybe with the Seeker? They might be—“

 

Cullen’s frown was proof enough.

 

Varric grimaced. “Yeah, forget I said anything.”

 

The man sighed, shaking his head. Haven wasn’t a big place, and there were few places she could go that wouldn’t have people alerted to her presence. She could barely step one foot outside the Chantry before someone was bowing as she passed. “She’s around here somewhere,” Cullen muttered.

 

It was Varric’s low, mirthless chuckle that drew his attention once more. A tiredness the dwarf rarely shared played briefly across the shadows cast by the firelight. He shrugged. “Maybe she finally ran for the hills. Not that I blame her…”

 

A sick, ugly discomfort wormed its way into Cullen’s gut. Sour and utterly unpleasant. Lips thinned, he glared at the mountains in the distance. And like Varric, he couldn’t disagree with that line of thinking. He didn’t like it, but it would be ignorant not to take it into consideration. Stepping out of the Fade itself, heaped with praise from a title unwillingly bestowed, and a glowing mark branded across one’s palm. He’d be lying if he had not seen that in her himself. The frightened, cornered look that seared across her face. The way she’d gripped her daggers a little tighter when the Breach was mentioned. Or when they tried to push her to choose — mages or templars. _Mages or templars_.

 

She had wrinkled her nose at both options. Neither was particularly appealing.

 

Scrubbing at the back of his neck, Cullen exhaled into the waning light. “I should go look for her. She couldn’t have gone far.”

 

Whatever comment Varric was turning about, the ex-Templar was pleased he’d kept it to himself.

 

Outside Haven’s gates, evening hues mixed with the viridescence of the Breach, reflecting off the surface of the frozen lake. A few recruits were laughed amongst themselves around small pit-fires, but most kept to quiet conversation. Firm greetings followed the Commander’s steps, and he nodded in reply. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell them to turn in — that they needed all the proper rest they could get if they were going to improve their skills — but he decided against it.

 

A moment to breathe was good for morale.

 

A glance towards the stables yielded no results. And while he poked around the forge, Cullen did not like the idea of rousing Harritt to ask after the Herald. He’d rather not get on the smith’s bad side. And with each passing minute, and the shrinking list of places she could have disappeared to, Varric’s comment grew like a weed, seeding in the corners of his thoughts. Fingers clenched tight, he squeezed his fists to the point of pain. No, he’d find her. She would not have fled so easily. Not when he’d witnessed her stare down the Pride Demon at the temple, or cut through the Shades that had swarmed him.

 

“Where is she?” he murmured, staring out into the waning light.

 

Turning back towards the gates — because maybe she had slipped past his notice and actually was in the Chantry after all — a shadow moved in the corner of his vision. A shiver chased up his spine, hand instinctively reaching for his sword. Someone — or something — lurked at the edge of camp, sluggish steps sliding through the snow and the drag of something heavy.

 

“Show yourself!” he barked, blade partially drawn.

 

“Commander?”

 

Emerging from the shadows, Petra eyed his stance warily. Dropping the handle of the pack she was dragging, she rolled her shoulders with a groan. Green eyes bright against her dark complexion, she glanced from his threatening posture to the glimmer of the steal at his waist. “Were you… going to attack me just now?”

 

“Maker’s breath, Herald,” he huffed. Well, at least he finally found her. He had the audacity to blush. Sliding the blade back into its sheath, Cullen gave the woman a cautious once over. She looked no worse for wear. In one piece and clearly in the process of returning to Haven from wherever she had wandered off to. Save the snow clinging to her armor, the way she rubbed at her right shoulder, or the tiredness behind her eyes, Trevelyan appeared to be all right. “It is late, and I did not know it was you.”

 

Petra brushed it off with a shrug. “S’okay.”

 

At least she didn’t take it personally.

 

He gripped the pommel of his sword, partly out of force of habit and partly to keep his stream of conscience from spewing from his mouth. He’d settle for careful wording instead. “If you don’t mind,” Cullen began, following as she started towards the forge. “Where have you been… exactly? You missed supper, which is uncommon for you.”

 

She grinned. “A jab at my eating habits, Commander?”

 

“Not at all—“ he glowered at her derisive snort “— But the cook knows of your love for sweet bread.”

 

“That was tonight!” she whined. Completely unladylike and not a sound he would have expected from someone of noble birth. But the Herald’s pout was plain on her face. Wrinkled brows, bottom lip poking out, and shoulders slumping slightly in a disappointed sag. “They’re probably all gone by now,” she sulked.

 

Cullen was tempted not to say anything. He’d witnessed the Herald’s displays of childishness before — from griping about her feet aching, Haven’s unfathomable cold, and Cassandra’s bullheaded personality. There was no shortage of things the pale-haired woman complained about. Nevertheless, he’d heard stories about her work outside of Haven. How she’d quickly gone into the Hinterlands and cleared out the mages and templars from attacking the refugees, picked up agents for the Inquisition, and was in the process of buttering up Redcliffe’s resident horse-master.

 

To say she did good work was an understatement.

 

So he felt no shame pulling a cloth-wrapped souvenir from the interior of his cloak. “I, uh, managed to save one, if you like.” Carefully holding it within view, he couldn’t help the slight warming of his ears. Normally, he would be against taking extra food. They weren’t on rations, however supplies had to be carefully monitored. But Cullen had never intended this morsel for himself. Even in his early days in the Order, he’d never been one to break the rules — and filching extra food from the kitchens had certainly counted as rule-breaking. Still, watching the Herald’s gaze go from sullen to hopeful in a matter of moments was definitely worth the trouble.

 

She wiggled a little closer, doing that jittery, excited twitch she was accustomed to do with her shoulders. Josephine’s persistent reprimands — particularly the warning that such behavior was unbecoming of the _Herald of Andraste_ — seemed to have little effect. And just like many of her profession, Petra made to snatch the bun from his hands, only for Cullen to hold it high overhead.

 

“You said I could have it,” she grumbled.

 

“I said no such thing.” His smirk came easy. He would give it to her, in due time. “You may have it, but you must first tell me where you were.”

 

Her pout deepened. “You’ll make fun me.”

 

“Never.”

 

Hesitating or stalling — Cullen couldn’t quite say which — Petra fiddled with the strap of the pack she was dragging and re-situated the bow strapped to her back. Something the Commander took quiet note of. Instead, he spied her daggers slung about her hips, polished clean.

 

She fidgeted. “I… uh, was trying to hunt some rams. Or, at least, practice my archery so I _could_ hunt rams.”

 

“Why were you hunting rams?” Haven had plenty of food. He couldn’t quite see what point she was trying to make, or why that warranted her to be out all evening.

 

Grumbling a low curse under her breath, she halted in front of Harrit’s forge and scuffed her boots in the dirt. “Apparently, because the rogue mages and templars were causing problems in the Hinterlands, a lot of the refugees were going hungry. So I… may have offered to help.”

 

Cullen hummed. “That’s very considerate of you.”

 

“Yeah, well, turns out I suck at it,” Petra huffed. Arms folding across her chest, she blew a wisp of white hair out of her face. “I can’t get close enough to the rams to use my daggers. And I’ve never been one for archery. Too hands off. And father never let me go hunting with him and my brothers. Said it was _no place for a Trevelyan daughter._ ” Her obvious distaste for that line of thinking marred her lips. It was on the Commander’s tongue to ask why she hadn’t recruited Varric for the task, but she beat him to it. “I had considered asking Varric, but I think he would have gotten offended if I asked him to use Bianca to hunt. He’d probably say that Bianca was a work of art, and that it would be degrading to use her in such a way.” 

 

His amused sniff seemed to brighten her expression. “I see.”

 

She shook her head. “No, it gets worse.” Scrubbing the back of her neck — an action she belatedly realized she was beginning to pick up from the ex-Templar — she glanced towards the frozen lake. An embarrassed tinge of red painted across her dark cheeks. “I missed.”

 

“That’s to be expected.”

 

“And hit a druffalo instead…”

 

_Oh._

 

Pausing, and not quite sure how to respond, he stepped back and gave her a more thorough once-over. No wonder she was rolling her shoulders earlier. Still, his silence was telling, and Petra nodded, lips pursed with discomfort.

 

“Are you” — he made a fitful gesture of reaching towards her, only to pull back — “all right?”

 

She shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll live.” There was an obvious grumble in her tone. Whether from her own lack of skill or because of how long it took, she was still displeased. Instead, she nudged open the pack with the toe of her boot. Inside, folded as neatly as she could, were several layers of druffalo hide. “I found a large rock and was pinned down for awhile. Mind you, my shots aren’t the best, but at least I brought it down before I could run out of arrows. That’s what I was _really_ afraid of.”

 

Cullen scowled. “It just took the rest of the day.”

 

“Yeah,” she sighed, tying the pack closed. She’d leave it out so Harrit would see it come morning. Like an early gift. At least they might be able to make some decent armor out of it.

 

A yawn slipped through her teeth as she made her way to the gates.

 

“Come on. I’ll walk you to your cabin,” he offered. Petra’s smile, tired and grateful, brought his own tugging at the corner of his lips, crinkling the edge of his scar. And while he’d forgotten about it in his search, Varric’s comment wiggled its way back to the forefront of his mind. But she hadn’t run off, and she hadn’t abandoned them. Her worry for the refugees was endearing, and he hoped she spared some of that worry for those who followed in her wake.

 

“Commander.”

 

Outside her cabin, he paused. “Yes, Herald?”

 

It was getting easier to call her that.

 

Petra fidgeted. Twiddling her thumbs behind her back — _another_ habit Josephine was trying to ween her off of — she sidled a little closer to his side. Green eyes, bright and mischievous, flickered his way.

 

“So, about that sweet bun?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> This actually happened in-game. Being low-level, using only a Hunting Bow, and trying to kill the druffalo outside of Haven is a terrible idea. It takes a long time to take one down - especially if you accidentally hit more than one.
> 
> I haven't written a fanfic in AGES, so I beg your pardon if it sounds a little shaky. I have a little collection of drabbles/oneshots started, and I've been dying to share them with others. Enjoy!


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